July 4 at the Chicago History Museum
nan turpin photograph
Fourth of July Chicago, by day we’re in the old times, Sauganash Inn, dancing, fiddling, drinking, trading, gambling all together, all mixing, different tribes, French, metis and music on that swampy prairie by the lake, under a winter moon.
Music from that old time in our heads and tonight, the Fourth, all around Chicago the townships and backyards are setting off fireworks, rockets, fire crackers, the city is surrounded by explosions. It didn’t stop all night like, like the Sauganash Inn.
And we slept sweet and deep with that Fourth of July lullaby- pops and whistles, great geysers of sparks burning through the sky, in our dreams of Sauganash, another rowdy night in there, that fiddler’s never tired.
Some nights a lonely night shift jackhammer on the prairie will keep you up and grumbling but tonight, the Fourth, dreams are so heavy and noisy you can’t wake up; you need to see how they turn out.
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